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Comfort
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Comfort
Comfort
Joyce Moyer Hostetter
CALKINS CREEK
Honesdale, Pennsylvania
Copyright © 2009 by Joyce Moyer Hostetter
All rights reserved
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, please contact [email protected].
Printed in the United States of America
First edition
First Calkins Creek paperback edition, 2011
Cover illustration copyright © 2011 by Lisa Lyman Adams
Cover design by Robbin Gourley
Title page: Wooden sculpture carved by Michael Martin
Text designed by Helen Robinson
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hostetter, Joyce.
Comfort / Joyce Moyer Hostetter. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: In 1945 Hickory, North Carolina, Ann Fay’s father is back from the war but she must still rely on her own strength and determination as she faces the problems of her polio-induced disability and her father’s failure to get a job.
Includes facts about the disability rights movement.
ISBN: 978-1-59078-606-2 (hc) • ISBN: 978-1-62979-292-7 (ebook)
[1. People with disabilities—Fiction. 2. Family problems—Fiction.
3. Emotional problems—Fiction. 4. Poliomyelitis—Fiction.
5. North Carolina—History—20th century—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H81125Com 2009
[Fic]—dc22
2008043664
CALKINS CREEK
An Imprint of Boyds Mills Press, Inc.
815 Church Street
Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431
To Shirley Cunningham, the eighth-grade teacher who convinced me that I am a writer
Contents
Prologue
1. After the War
2. The Radio
3. The Bomb
4. Nagasaki
5. School
6. Disaster
7. Comfort
8. Imogene’s Songs
9. Surprises
10. Otis Hickey
11. The Car
12. Georgia
13. Staying in Warm Springs
14. Christmas
15. Warm Springs, Georgia
16. New Friends
17. Examinations
18. Fun and Games
19. Changing
20. Valentines
21. Magic Hill
22. Singing
23. Hubert
24. Mr. Botts
25. Gavin
26. Disbelief
27. Desperation
28. Leaving Warm Springs
29. Home
30. Telling
31. Planting Peas
32. Getting Help
33. Good Days and Bad
34. Change
35. Otis
36. Mysteria Mansion
37. Making Progress
38. Muddy Water
39. Imogene
40. Pure Comfort
41. Getting to Normal
42. Nothing Finer!
Epilogue
Author’s Note
A Timeline of Disability Rights
Resources
Acknowledgments
Prologue
It was my friends and neighbors and the singing of Imogene’s people that got me through that first year after the war.
But to tell you the truth,
I never thought it would be a matter of just getting through.
For some reason, I thought that when my daddy come home from fighting, my world would be put back right again.
Not perfect right, of course, on account of Bobby dying of polio while Daddy was gone.
And me catching it too and coming home from the hospital on crutches.
Still, I thought Daddy and me both coming home would be like putting the last piece in a puzzle and sitting back to enjoy the pretty picture.
But hard as I tried, I couldn’t make things be the way I wanted them with Daddy.
I learned quick enough that when someone drops a bomb in one small place on this planet, it shatters the whole universe.
And not just for a little while either.
The breaking goes on forever…
1
After the War
July 1945
Daddy was snuggling with Momma on the sofa and I was pretending to read the newspaper. But really, I was listening in on the two of them. Momma run her fingers through his black hair and played with the gray around his ears.
“Oh, it never felt so good,” said Daddy.
At first when Daddy come home I didn’t even notice the gray hairs. But soon I saw that me and him were starting to show some differences. Of course, my eyes was still blue like his and we had both lost weight, what with polio hitting me and the war taking so much out of him. But my hair was still as black as Daddy’s on the day he went off to fight.
Momma smoothed the gray hairs with her thumb. “You look so distinguished,” she teased. Her happy brown eyes crinkled into pretty comma shapes when she smiled.
“I have an idea,” said Daddy. “Why don’t you and me go out on the porch where we can get some peace and quiet?” He gave a little nod in the direction of my eight-year-old twin sisters. They were sitting on the floor, dressing their paper dolls. But the dolls seemed to be fighting over the same outfit.
Daddy pulled Momma to her feet and the two of them went outside. He let the screen door close real soft. But it seemed like every time he left the room we all felt it. Just as soon as they were gone, Ida looked up and said, “Where’s Daddy?”
“Yeah,” said Ellie. “Where’d he go?” She started gathering up the paper dolls.
“You leave them be,” I said. “Momma and Daddy got lots of catching up to do.”
To be honest, I wanted to follow them too. I wanted Daddy to pull me up and take me out on the porch. But I stayed in the armchair, reading the front page of the Hickory Daily Record. It said how hard we were bombing the Japanese and how we thought they would surrender any minute now—the same thing it said every day.
Sometimes my daddy was real interested in those stories, to hear if the war was about to end. But other times when I read the paper to him, he would change the subject or get up and leave. And I hated when he moved away from me.
I couldn’t keep my mind on the newspaper, so I folded it, stuffed it under my armpit, and reached for my crutches. I locked my leg brace and hoisted myself to my feet. Once I got to the sofa, I sat on the end closest to the window. I could hear a rocking chair going out there. Just one, so I knew Momma was sitting on Daddy’s lap, her head so close to his that her shiny brown hairs was mixed in with his darker ones. And I knew he was holding on to her like he thought she might leave him.
I knew just what they’d be seeing out there too, if they wasn’t so busy looking at each other. They’d see the dark outlines of trees in the yard, the mailbox at the end of our lane, and the deep blue shape of Bakers Mountain beyond that.
Suddenly the rocking stopped. “Listen,” Daddy said.
There was silence for a minute. Then Momma said, “I don’t hear anything.”
“I do,” said Daddy. “It’s so quiet I can hear the stars sparkle.” Momma giggled, and I heard him say again, real slow, “It never felt so good.”
I closed my eyes and thought how ever since I was a little girl it made me feel safe to see how my momma and daddy loved each other. Now, after more than a year of them being apart, I figured this was as perfect as it was going to get.
Ida and Ellie’s paper dolls were getting along again. They’d finally agreed on who got to wear that red party dress.
I just wrote what Bobby told me.
Now he was the one sleeping tight, down there in his grave under the mimosa tree in our side yard. Or maybe not. Probably he was up in heaven making those stars sparkle. Trying to bring some comfort to Daddy.
Ever since the war, comfort was something my daddy seemed to hanker after. He had a shoulder wound that brung him home earlier than we expected. But he never talked about it, and anyway I could tell he was looking for a different kind of comfort. The kind that made you feel safe on the inside, instead of sad or worried. The kind that reminded you of how life was before some disaster snuck up and knocked you off your feet.
I felt the same way. When Daddy was driving me home from the polio hospital he offered to celebrate by going to a diner. Any other time, I would’ve begged to eat in a restaurant. But I just wanted to get home. I needed home-cooked foods, and the sight of my momma’s wood cookstove, and our table set with chipped dishes.
I noticed right off that whenever Momma asked Daddy what he was hungry for, he’d say the same things every time. If it was morning he wanted biscuits and white gravy. Evenings he’d ask for mashed potatoes and brown gravy. And corn on the cob every chance he got.
And blackberries. My daddy was so happy for the taste of them. Naturally, I wanted to be wherever he was, so the first day he took a notion to pick I followed him across the dirt road that runs by our house. But I learned real quick that when you’re on crutches, picking blackberries is more than a notion. While he tramped through the field I sat in the side ditch and picked whatever I could reach.
Daddy wouldn’t let me work for more than thirty minutes because Dr. Gaul had said to save my best energy for my therapy. I had to do exercises every day to strengthen my muscles. And go to a clinic once a week so my doctor could check my progress. Polio had made my left leg real weak, and my left arm was weak too. Some of the muscles just didn’t want to work, so I practiced using other muscles to do their jobs.
I thought about Imogene Wilfong, my friend from the polio hospital. I wished I could see her at the clinic. But she lived in Greensboro, and anyhow she was colored. She’d probably have to go to her own doctor. They had broke the rules about segregation during the polio epidemic—as long as we was in contagious—but that didn’t mean they would keep on breaking them.
I’d got just one letter from her since I come home from the hospital a few weeks earlier. And it was in my pocket. I pulled it out.
Dear Ann Fay,
I got your letter about leaving the Charlotte hospital and your daddy coming home from the war. I know you’re happy!
I’m glad to be home, but I’m bored already. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could play ball with my brothers and sisters in the backyard. But I’m tired of being the referee. I’m counting the weeks until school starts.
Have you read any good books? I’m reading Blue Willow. It’s easy but I like it. It’s about a girl. Her family loses everything valuable except one blue plate with pictures that tell a story. The plate helps her believe that someday her family will have a real home again.
We got to have our dreams, don’t we?
Your friend,
Imogene
I folded the letter up and then took it back out and read it again. I thought about what Imogene said about dreams. Once, since I come home from the hospital, I dreamed about seeing her again. But then I woke up.
In real life I dreamed the same thing. So I asked my daddy about going to see Imogene. But his answer hadn’t changed since the last time I asked him. It’s best if folks stick with their own kind.
I sat there thinking how our polio hospital was willing to break the rules and put blacks and whites side by side during an emergency. And how the minute the crisis was over they thought it was so important to put everybody back in their places. You would think they would learn a thing or two from how good we got along. Not just me and Imogene, but others in the hospital too. We could do it again if they give us a chance!
All of a sudden, right in the middle of my Imogene thoughts, I heard the call of a bobwhite. I knew right off it was Junior Bledsoe asking for me. Junior is our neighbor—he’s eighteen years old. His daddy is dead, so it’s just him and his momma now. He done his best to look after us while Daddy was gone, even though I was almost fourteen then and Daddy had told me to be the man of the house.
I couldn’t leave the room without the girls noticing because my brace clicked every time I made a move. So I nudged Ida with my crutch. “I’m going out for some fresh air,” I said. “You keep right on doing what you’re doing.”
“We’re having a party,” Ida said.
“And I’m wearing the red dress,” said Ellie. She held her doll up for me to see.
“Well, aren’t you looking pretty!” I was already on my way out of the room.
The kitchen was dark, but I worked my way around the white shape of the table, the wood cookstove, and the refrigerator.
When I got to the back porch I answered with my own bobwhite whistle, then sat on the top step and waited for Junior.
2
The Radio
July 1945
The toolshed was just ahead of me. And the johnny house off to the right from that, waiting for company to come to its door. Personally, I’d be thrilled if I never visited johnny again. Not having an indoor bathroom was just one of the things that got extra complicated by polio. I looked past the outhouse to the walnut tree with the tire swing turning slowly in the breeze. It made me wish I was a young’un again.
Then, just like that, Junior was standing in front of me. Seemed like he had got so big while I was in the polio hospital. I’d been home for three weeks already, but I still hadn’t got used to his broadness.
“Hey, Ann Fay,” he said.
“Hey, yourself.”
“I brought you a radio.” Junior held out a brown box with a cord hanging from the back. I could see it shining in the moonlight.
“A radio? Whatever for?”
“To listen to, silly.” He put it on my lap and sat down on the step beside me. But first he pulled a short black comb out of his back pocket and run it through his hair. That was another change in Junior. Seemed like all of a sudden he was awful concerned about which direction his curly brown hair was going.
“Junior, I can’t take this. Radios cost a lot of money.”
“Didn’t cost me a dime. Ruth Whitener gave it to me for fixing her flat tire. A customer gave it to her when they couldn’t pay their bill. She already has one, and you know me and Momma do too. It’ll help pass the time of day. Since you don’t get around like you used to.” Then real quick, Junior added, “And it can be for your daddy for serving his country the way he done.”
“Well, if you’re sure…” I rubbed my hands over the shiny case and tried to imagine my family listening to war news right in our own home. Used to be we’d have to go over to Junior and Bessie’s if we wanted to hear the radio. And to read a newspaper we had to wait for our neighbors, the Hinkle sisters, to share theirs with us.
“Do you think the war’s about over?” I asked.
“Of course. Our boys are clobbering the Japs. They can’t hold out much longer.”
I knew I could count on Junior Bledsoe to have an opinion. If there’s anyone that’s got an opinion on every subject, it’s Junior. “I hope you’re right,” I said. And I laid my head down on that radio. I sure wished I could listen to Franklin Roosevelt giving one of his fireside chats from the White House. “I still can’t believe he’s dead.”
“Huh?”
“President Roosevelt. I’d give an
ything to hear him talking to me on the radio again. Junior, it makes me so mad! I was all set on going to his Georgia Warm Springs Foundation for people who had polio. And maybe even seeing him there. Why did he have to die?”
“Well, Ann Fay Honeycutt, it’s not like he done it just to make you mad. He wore out, that’s all. Besides, what did you want to go there for anyway—to see the president or to get over polio?”
“Maybe both,” I said. “This blasted brace on my leg is dragging me down. And getting rid of these crutches would be like breaking out of jail. I bet if I’d met Franklin Roosevelt I’d have felt so good I’d be walking by now.”
“Probably not,” said Junior. “I say if you want something bad enough it doesn’t matter if you’re in Warm Springs, Georgia, or right here at home. It all depends on what’s inside of you.”
I rolled my eyes, but of course Junior couldn’t see it. Like I said before—that boy has an opinion on just about everything. But I didn’t argue with him. “Maybe,” I said. “You know what else I want?”
“Bet you’re gonna tell me.”
“I wanna see Imogene Wilfong, my colored friend from the hospital. Too bad you don’t have a car. You could take me to Greensboro.”
“Yeah,” said Junior. “Too bad I don’t have a car. We could really go places then. Tell ya what. I’ll start saving my money.”
“Did you ever have a colored friend?”
“Huh?”
“What do you think, Junior? Can white people be friends with coloreds or do we have to stick with our own kind?”
Junior shrugged. “Like I said, if you want something bad enough, you can get it.” He stood up. “There’s a colored man works on the farm during haying season. Jake can throw a bale like nobody’s business, and take a tractor apart and put it back together. And he’s real good to joke around with. Time flies when I’m working with him.”
“Does that make him your friend?”
Junior shrugged. “I only see him during haying season. We’re not girls, Ann Fay. We just work together.” He stood up. “I better get back. Just wanted you to have the radio.”